


Nostalgia

by unspeakable3



Series: welcome to the most noble and ancient house of black [48]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Family-centric (Harry Potter), Drabble Collection, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, First War with Voldemort, Gen, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Locker Room, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), POV Regulus Black, Quidditch, Regulus Black Feels, Regulus Black-centric, Seekers, Slytherin, Slytherin Pride, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Wordcount: 100-1.000, Wordcount: 100-500
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 05:28:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20522708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unspeakable3/pseuds/unspeakable3
Summary: Regulus wasn’t sure if he would have been able to make it through this most dreadful of years without the freedom and escape of flying.





	Nostalgia

Regulus skipped breakfast and made his way to the Quidditch pitch before his teammates could arrive and sully the significance of this moment with their mindless chatter and jostling.

This would be the thirtieth game of his Hogwarts career. His last.

He probably should have given up his position at the end of sixth year, as Murton and Fawley had. But Higgs, their Captain since fifth year, had persuaded him to stay on and truthfully Regulus wasn’t sure if he would have been able to make it through this most dreadful of years without the freedom and _escape_ of flying.

As he entered the locker room Regulus inhaled, closed his eyes and let the waves of nostalgia wash over him.

He had been a small thing back then, slight and fast. He was still fast, but well over a foot taller and still growing (he hoped). And he had practiced drill after drill until he could corkscrew and roll and feint and dive better than any other Seeker in the school.

But the locker room still smelled the same: a fairly unpleasant mixture of old boots, sweat-soaked jerseys and broom polish. It was comforting, in a way. Regulus always knew what to expect when he was here, and what was expected of _him_. He had one job — catch the Snitch before the other team’s Seeker — and he knew that he could do it well. He had an excellent catch record, and today would be no different.

He crossed to his locker, retrieved his servicing kit, and sat on one of the long benches with his broomstick over his knee as he made sure it was in perfect condition and ready for play. There were a few untidy twigs at the tail that he clipped off, a splinter in the handle that he sanded away. He polished the rich oak wood until it gleamed so brightly he could almost see his face in it and set it aside, carefully, while he changed.

Trousers, jersey, robe, shinpads, gauntlets, gloves, boots: he loved every part of his well-worn uniform, the pride he took from donning the Slytherin green-and-silver and displaying his name proudly on his back. The delight he felt as he soared high into the air and watched the match unfold beneath him. The _exhilaration _of the crowd’s deafening cheers as his fingers closed around the tiny Snitch.

He’d miss it terribly.


End file.
